


All I See (Is You and Me)

by manycoloureddays



Series: Prompt Reposts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manycoloureddays/pseuds/manycoloureddays
Summary: Before he had found out about the whole magic, wizard, Hogwarts thing, Dean had thought he might like to play football for West Ham, or pilot an aeroplane, or make comics.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from One Republic's 'Come Home'
> 
> originally posted on tumblr in response to the prompt "paint me" (thanks Grace)

He had never really had a clear plan for his life after school. Before he had found out about the whole magic, wizard, Hogwarts thing, Dean had thought he might like to play football for West Ham, or pilot an aeroplane, or make comics. Then, before he’d had time to adjust to all the new possibilities magic brought him, he wasn’t sure he would live to see the end of secondary school, let alone live long enough to make actual plans.

But then, almost as abruptly as his life had been turned on its head the first time, the war was over, and life returned to something that might be considered normal. Now he’s faced with two worlds full of possibilities, and he doesn’t feel like he fits properly into either.

It doesn’t help that most of his friends are busy changing the world. Again. Being surrounded by dedicated, driven people, he feels even more adrift. Neville is championing educational reform, studying magical and Muggle teaching practices and trying to bring that reform to Hogwarts. Lavender, in the months since being discharged from St Mungo’s, had begun campaigning for equal rights and protections for werewolves, working with Beast and Being advocacy groups to change cultural perceptions. Last he heard Hermione and Lee had decided to team up to bring integrity to journalism in magical Britain. Harry has been using his considerable clout to help all of their projects, and fight for a few of his own, including trying to make sure the Department of Magical Law Enforcement can never again get away with sending innocent people to prison. And no matter what Ron said, helping George bring laughter back to Diagon Alley was essential to the post war effort. 

He hadn’t felt too dejected. He was barely eighteen, his friends were light years ahead of most people their age, and he had been enjoying setting up his new flat, getting to know his new life, with his best friend. And then Seamus got a call from his mother’s father’s cousin’s boy who needed an extra hand rebuilding houses in wizarding villages that had fallen during the war - to Death Eater destruction, or giants, or both.

He has been working for going on three weeks, coming home each night covered in plaster, or sawdust, or paint, full of stories about his day, and Dean is happy for him. He loves that the smile is back on his friend’s face, he just wishes he had something to add to the dinner conversation, something to prove he has lived and breathed another day. Something other than “I found the tea leaves we like cheaper than I’ve ever seen them and it was sadly the most exciting thing that happened all day,” or “Old Miss Driscol from downstairs keeps dropping her nephew and his lovely boyfriend into conversation in an effort to let me know how okay she is with us living here and now all I can think about is how much I wish she had the right end of the stick.” Of course, he doesn’t say that out loud, but he definitely thinks it. 

He probably should have given Seamus more credit. 

“Honey, I’m home,” he yells out. The smell of curry follows him down the hall and into Dean’s bedroom. “And I bought take out.” His eyes dart around the room, taking in the piles of books on the floor and bed. “Are you rearranging your shelves again?”

He doesn’t let Dean respond, just rolls his eyes and motions for Dean to follow him to the kitchen.

“So, I know you’ve been at a bit of a loose end,” Seamus starts, head in the fridge. He pulls out two beers, hands them to Dean, and then disappears into the cupboard where they keep the plates. “And I was trying to figure out how to help you.”

He emerges from the cupboard, ears red and not meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean doesn’t know what to say, because it’s clear Seamus has more he wants to add and he doesn’t want to spook him. They’ve been doing that a lot in the last few years, tiptoeing around each other.

Seamus finishes plating up the food, and they wander into the lounge room. It’s a typical evening for them, eating dinner and watching TV, until halfway through his dinner Seamus puts his plate down and grabs a bag from corner.

“Anyway, I got this for you. It’s been ages since you picked up a sketchbook, and I thought-“ he trails off.

Dean hasn’t cried in months, but tears are definitely welling in his eyes. His throat is thick. He can’t stop running his hands over the cover, over the paper, thick and perfect. He blinks rapidly. 

“Seamus-”

“I know, I know, it’s not going to fix everything. But I thought it could be a start.” Seamus has his rambling face on. There is always a danger that he will use thirty words to say something that should, by rights, take four.

“Shut up.” Dean carefully puts the sketchbook down on the floor, before leaning closer, raising his hand to cup Seamus’ cheek. “Is this okay?” 

“Okay?” Seamus’ eyebrows shoot up, but he’s smiling. Smiling wide and happy and he’s looking Dean in the eyes again, so Dean relaxes too. “This is the best possible outcome, and also maybe just the best thing ever.” 

“You are such a sap.” 

Seamus just keeps smiling. Even when Dean kisses him, he keeps smiling, until they are both just laughing, foreheads touching, noses pressed together. That tight feeling in Dean’s chest, that he thought could only grow and wind tighter, disappears completely.

 

“So, are you going to let me draw you?” Dean asks, later, when their plates are in the sink, and the football match is over. Seamus kicks him. It doesn’t hurt, of course, because his legs are currently thrown over Dean’s own. He looks over and catches Seamus’ blush, his lip caught between his teeth.

“I mean, if you want. I’m sure you can come up with better looking models.”

“Hey, I like your face!” He pokes Seamus’ foot with the tip of his pencil. Seamus responds by climbing into his lap and jabbing his sides, distracting him with kisses. If their wrestling ends up slightly differently than it normally does, well that’s just a bonus. And if most of the pages in his sketchbook end up filled with sketches of Seamus, then that’s nobody’s business but his.


End file.
